Four Steps West of Nowhere
by Aaskada
Summary: Aaron and Marta were still running after they left the Philippines, but they still had a goal. Eventually they would be free and someday Aaron would know who he was. But who he was didn't seem to be a nice person and they might just be too damaged to trust freedom. (Slow updates)


**Disclaimer:** The author owns neither Bourne Legacy nor S.W.A.T.

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><p>A year later and they were still running from the alphabet agencies and trying to survive. Marta was doing her best to find a way to viral him off of the blue chems, but she hadn't found a way yet. The viral stems they stole had worked temporarily, then began to be destroyed by his immune system. She happened to have grabbed some extras, but it was a matter of keeping them viable while she tried to make their effect permanent.<p>

She was looking out the window of their cheap motel room again. Every few minutes she got up from the desk where she was going through the data they'd stolen from the last lab and went over to the window to look outside. Aaron watched her as he cleaned his guns for the second time in as many hours. He watched her as she sat back down and started going through the files on the hard drive he'd stolen from an electronics store with the laptop she was working on. She was scrolling through a list of the compounds used on the Operation Outcome "volunteers" looking for something that could help her help him.

He still didn't remember his life before Outcome. He remembered thinking he'd been Private First Class Kenneth James Kitsom, but now he was sure that was faker than Aaron Cross. At least he'd actually been Aaron, still was. LA was strangely familiar though. Not just _I've been here before_, but the kind of intimate familiarity that came from spending years in one place coupled with a vague sense of almost-nostalgia, like he should be able to reminisce about the good old days at the bar down the street. He felt a bit cheated that he couldn't, but even that was more than he'd remembered before. He hadn't told Marta yet.

His guns were reassembled and put away just as she looked toward the window again. She jumped when he rested his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll keep watch."

She nodded and waited for him to settle on the far side of the desk, next to the window, and open the ugly curtains just enough to be able to look out before she turned back to the laptop. The cheap alarm clock radio was playing jazz standards quietly and she hummed along to _Luck Be a Lady_ by Sinatra. There were plenty of intake reports with the chem reports because the lab they'd stolen the information from had been an intake lab, which meant that these files were the only ones that told the true history of the Outcome agents—as much as the CIA cared about, anyway.

In her opinion, Aaron was surprisingly indifferent to his true history. He'd told her when he'd begun to suspect that he wasn't really Kenneth Kitsom; after that he hadn't seemed to care anymore. Compared to Jason Bourne, who'd risked everything and unknowingly helped to doom hundreds of people, it was strange that he cared so little. In her free time she found herself wondering what will happen once he finally viraled off the blue chems. She'd been declared a terrorist and he wouldn't need her after that. Especially if he didn't care who he was.

He glanced away from the window and caught her staring at him. She didn't look away—she got over being embarrassed about most things a while ago—but she didn't say anything either until he tilted his head toward the laptop.

"It's intake reports and chem tests mostly, but there's accounting and that kind of thing. I think I know where the base here is now. I'm going to need more about the blue chems before I can make a virus. Nothing about you."

He nodded thoughtfully and looked back out the window. The intake reports all said the same types of things: person A was taken from place B at time C and his death was faked by D. The extraction was handled by agents E, F, and G and A was now on drugs H, I, and J to make him into Outcome #. The subject was admitted by Doctor K and Doctors L, M, and N will be handling the process while K did oversight. It was remarkably formulaic and also some of Outcome's most condemning paperwork. By themselves they could do nigh irreparable damage, though a copy of the kill order that went out on Outcome could destroy the CIA.

"We need more hard drives."

"What?"

"Hard drives," he repeated. "There's a radio shack a mile away, one of the big ones. I'll go tomorrow. We'll need them for the data from the lab."

She nodded. The place in LA was another intake lab according to what she'd found in the files from the lab outside of Olympia. There were transfer orders and intake reports that said there were people coming from a lab set up in an LA warehouse. The motel was close enough to the industrial sector that every US city larger than ten thousand had that they could check out the day they broke in and be out of LA before a search could start. They agreed to meet in Phoenix if they got separated. It made sense for him to get the hard drives before so they didn't have to scramble to find one like the time in Juneau, but she didn't know if he intended to buy them or steal them. No doubt he could get in and out without raising any alarms, but she didn't know if he would. Hard drives are expensive and they needed their money for food and shelter.

Once the sun went down he went to the Radio Shack and broke in through the back. He went to the manager's office first and looped all of the cameras inside and at the service entrance he went in through starting five minutes before he showed up and going for an hour. The bag he brought with him was big enough to fit seven of the really expensive hard drives with a lot of space from the back room and he's gone with half an hour to spare and even back at the room before the loop would have ended. Marta took them out of their boxes and put them in the backpack they used to carry the laptop and the other hard drive. He took the boxes to the dumpster in the parking lot and threw them in.

The next week he staked out the lab and the day after that he broke in during the night and downloaded everything they had. They checked out of the cheap motel the next morning and found a cheap apartment downtown a block from the headquarters of the LAPD. Marta was a bit nervous, but Aaron convinced her they'd be fine.

"How are you so sure?" she asked him.

"I know this place." She's surprised, it wasn't the answer she was expecting. "I think I lived here, once."

After that she dug through the intake reports until she found one with a picture that looked like him.

The picture clearly wasn't taken by Outcome; he's got a cocky smile and stud earrings and tattoos that were since removed, obviously since he didn't have them anymore, and it was a bit surreal seeing what had to be his own intake report. His name was Brian Gamble and the reason he hated trains so much before it got beaten out of him was because he almost got killed by one. It caused the brain damage (Marta needed to know that to make a working virus, so it was a good thing they found his intake report.) that the doctors explained away by saying Kenneth Kitsom wasn't very bright. He worked at the police station just down the street before he quit after a scandal to do with a bank robbery and a hostage and a year later he was "killed" while doing mercenary work that put him afoul of the S.W.A.T. department he had once worked for. There was a copy of his employment record from the station attached. It was probably only there because it explained all of the ways he was already ahead of most people physically—apparently his marksmanship was always incredible because he shot down a flying helicopter by hitting the rotor engine with a sniper rifle the day he "died." It said he was cocky, insubordinate, and had made a dream team with his best friend since they were in the SEALS, James Street.

He didn't know what to do with any of it. He would take a walk, but between the chance of being recognized by the locals and the constant watch for Byer and his goons he knew that was a bad idea. Instead he compulsively cleaned the guns he hadn't had to use in nearly a month and a half now (He had a stockpile of ammunition because he got more whenever he could. It was starting to take up too much room in his bag, so he knew not to get anymore unless he thought it might be necessary or he actually used some of what he'd already got.) and looked out the windows trying to recognize anyone or anything.

Marta bleached her hair and eyebrows blond just before they left the motel and told everyone they were brother and sister, Kenneth and Martha Greene. That was what they signed on the lease for their shitty apartment. She was the one who went out for food and supplies so they didn't risk him being recognized. It had only been four years since he got taken according to the report, so it wasn't unlikely that someone would at least notice a resemblance. She wore a pair of huge glasses with plastic instead of lenses like a hipster and braided her hair every day, which made it curly when she let it down. He wore a pair of square-framed glasses—also with fake lenses—a sweater they picked up at a flea market, jeans, and hiking boots everywhere.

They ran into James Street and his team (Or, technically, Sergeant Daniel Harrelson's team though they didn't learn that until later.) at a local bar. Neither of them remembered the name of the place, but it was dark and smoky and had a pool table surrounded by trashy bimbos so it wasn't any worse than others they'd been in. There was a picture on the wall that had got to have been something like a decade old with him in it and a man who's got to be James Street and it was a little cut up, like the glass was broken once. He only saw it in passing even though he wanted to pick it up and stare. He'd thought he didn't care anymore. Of course that was when he found out who he really was and realized how much he wanted to know who he used to be. It was rather convenient, then, that the entire team turned out to frequent the place.

They walked in around eight, after Marta and Aaron had been there about half an hour talking in the code they used that made them sound like normal people. The two of them were sitting together at a table in the back that gave them a view of the whole room, the bathrooms, and the entrance. There were four of them. The Latina woman was saying that she couldn't stay long because she didn't want to leave her daughter alone. One of the most dangerous men they'll ever have known was twenty feet away from them, but they were laughing about something that happened at work. Marta didn't miss the way he has most of his attention focused on the group even though he was still holding up his end of their spy-talk conversation and she almost smiled because it was proof that he still cared; she'd seen him look at the picture, too. She wondered idly how she could get the team's attention.

In the end it was mostly a matter of one of them getting drinks from the bar. She ordered them each a beer and was on her way back to their table when one of the more drunken patrons accosted her. It got the attention of the cops, who were about to step in themselves when Aaron rescued her from her captor's drunken hands.

"Thanks, Ken," she said with a sigh.

"Jesus, Martha, don't call me that."

"If you didn't want to be called Ken you shouldn't have dated a Barbara." She almost laughed at the chance to make him play along with her teasing.

"Enough of the Barbie jokes," he groaned with one of his almost-smiles as he followed her back to her table. "That was years ago, when are you gonna drop it?"

"Never."

She was smirking at him as they sat back down. Both of them were hyperaware of the eyes on them because they both knew that if there was a picture of Brian Gamble on the wall there were people there who knew him, and Aaron's paper-thin disguise was only about as convincing as his acting—and his complete lack of tattoos. He carefully gave the impression of ignoring them.

"I'm thinking about getting a cat," he said. _A CAT scan might help us figure out what to do about the brain damage._

"Where would we even get one?" she asked, "and how would we take care of it?" _Who can we trust with this? How can we pull it off?_

"Not sure, but we can find someone. It'd be nice, though, right?" _I'll look around. Would it help with the virus?_

"I guess. We can give it a try." _I don't know. It might._

"I'll take care of it." _I'll find a way._

"Sure, then. Don't see why not." _Stay safe._

And they really were like siblings now, weren't they? The two of them could practically read each other's minds and they bickered like they'd grown up together. In the beginning she'd thought she could love him and she did now, but it was all completely platonic. He seemed to feel the same. This wasn't something she'd ever predicted, but how could she have predicted the complete mess her life became?

"Are you okay?"

They looked up to see one of the cops, not in uniform, standing nearby.

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "Fine, just annoyed."

"Alright, looks like you two can handle yourselves."

The man backed off and went back to the other three. Marta saluted them with her beer bottle because she could tell that Aaron was trying not to and a slip up like that there could draw more attention than they wanted. It was pretty obvious that they'd found the truth about Aaron's past this time from how hard he was finding it to avoid acting like he knew the area and the people or like Brian Gamble. It was harder when he didn't remember being that person—most of the time it was a matter of holding back instinctive reactions.

They were gone once they'd finished their drinks. It was a hike back to their apartment, but it was dark enough that the cameras wouldn't get a perfect shot of them as long as they were careful and both were confident in their ability to defend themselves against common criminals. She was pretty sure Aaron had both of his guns and several extra magazines hidden under his oversized hipster sweater. The sweater made her want to laugh; it wasn't a Brian Gamble thing or an Aaron Cross thing, it's a Kenneth Greene thing and she loved it. It was almost like being normal. Normal and her hadn't been on the best of terms lately—since around the time she started working for the CIA seven years ago, actually, but definitely since Operation Outcome.

Back at the apartment they sat down on their sleeping bags because they couldn't be bothered to get beds when they know they wouldn't be staying. When she had the laptop turned on he said something that surprised her.

"We need a way to get some of the more condemning information out."

She wasn't expecting that. Mostly because he didn't seem the type to care about revenge or justice and it had never come up before, but when the two of them would never be left alone as long as Byer has influence it makes sense he'd want the man out of power. She looked at the eight hard drives.

"More than one place, to get greater coverage, right?"

"And to stop a cover up."

"And to stop a cover up," she parroted back with a nod. "Wiki-leaks, maybe, and a few major news networks?"

"Some international ones at least, where Byer can't do anything about it."

"England, France, Germany, and Canada?"

He nodded and added "CNN, New York Times, ABC, CBS, NPR. Maybe a couple others...?"

"Not Fox?"

"No."

She nodded and made a note in Word. She was trying to work this out, but it was going to require a lot of paper and ink and a printer they could attach to the laptop. After that they'd need special envelopes to mail the documents in or boxes if they couldn't fit them all in envelopes. They had set up a shared bank account under their fake names when they got the apartment and it was filled with money wired from the accounts of various Outcome-related people. They'd pay this time because they can't afford to get caught stealing. She typed it all up and then read it over again carefully.

"It'll be easier to get those CAT scans if public support is on our side."

"We'd get disappeared. Releasing this all would be a start, but Byer would just want us dead even more. I'll find a place I can get those done without too many questions."

She accepted that. It was true, after all, that provoking Byer like they were planning to do would just make him angrier. The CIA had already made it perfectly clear that they didn't care about morals as long as they got to keep their pet projects. Treadstone and Blackbriar had already been outed and Outcome got scrubbed because of it and they needed proof that those were related, cause and effect. They had digital copies of orders for things like the bombing of the cabin in Alaska—the one Outcome 3 had died in, where he would have died if his instincts hadn't told him to run—and the like on various USB drives, but most of it was related to the two of them specifically. Somewhere they had a copy of the assassination order on her.

"Most of our convincing evidence is about or related to us," she told him. "It's because that was the stuff we went looking for, but it means that we can let that out to clear our names. It might give you a bit of trouble considering you turned mercenary before Outcome got you, but we can deal with it."

He frowned as he thought. His frowns always looked more severe than his mood truly was; when he was actually upset he went with a cold, controlled fury that made him capable of just about anything. Finally he sighed.

"It's the best option."

She just nodded and accepted that because it was their best option right then. If they could prove their own innocence they could throw everything else into question. She picked out the files on Brian Gamble and found the USBs with files on Outcome 5 and Aaron Cross and consolidated it all into a file on the laptop; the file included everything they had related to him, like his record-breaking trek to the cabin in Alaska and the bombing of that same cabin. Her own file wasn't as big—her employment record, the work she'd done for the CIA, and all of the orders to have her killed and/or framed for treason. Several of these included the electronic signatures of high-ranking government officials.

The next day he went out and bought the printer and a couple extra ink cartridges while she picked up enough printer paper to print out the entirety of the Encyclopedia Britannica. They started printing out files that day—fifteen copies of everything to go out to major news networks, mostly American. They were only part way through printing out the file she put together about herself when she started laughing because they forgot to get a stapler. She sent him out to Home Depot to get one of the heavy duty ones that can staple about three hundred pages together and he came back with that and a smaller one in case they have files that weren't so big. There was a box of extra staples for each.

It was almost like they were doing some kind of teenage activism project instead of preparing to prove themselves innocent of treason and take on the CIA. It was strange that they hadn't been traced there yet, but Aaron was never detected in the LA lab and they'd only actually been in town for about two weeks. Everything is about perspective and hers was so different now that sometimes she forgot what it was like before she was spending her time running for her life and trying to bring down the corrupt CIA. The whole thing was almost like some ridiculous action movie.

They mailed out the boxes of documents by the end of the week and left, even though the apartment was leased out for the rest of the month, because they put it as the return address when they shipped everything and didn't want to be there when someone showed up. They left behind the laptop with all of the documents on it, carefully wiped down so that there weren't any fingerprints or DNA. They did the same to the entire apartment and took to wearing gloves. It was just as well because between the news agencies and the pissed off government officials the place was swamped a week later. Interpol took the laptop to look it over, from what they heard, because the whole mess had gone international a long time ago and no one trusted the CIA with this anymore. The hard drives and USBs were wiped down and sent to the headquarters of Interpol with a letter typed at a library in Austin, Texas that they both signed by hand. They put the library on that one as the return address. By the time that hit the news they'd been in Minneapolis for half a month.

Keeping up with the furious pace of the investigation into everything the CIA had been up to was almost impossible. If they hadn't been spending their days with nothing better to do they'd have never been able to do it. Actual, good-quality pictures were on every news channel now because they were in the file and on the internet and it was harder to go out without getting recognized. Marta's hair was red now and she wore color contacts that made her eyes more of a green than hazel. Aaron let his hair grow out and stopped shaving as often, it made him look younger and they were telling everyone they were friends on a road trip. He also wore brown contacts to mask how blue his eyes were. Their names were Maria and Ryan now.

It seemed like the investigation was simultaneously taking forever and going by in a flash. They had gotten used to measuring time by how long they could hide before they were found again and they hadn't been found in months. The investigation had been going for about three months now and it'd been nearly five since the last time they were found. Five months since the last time someone was shooting at them and it was practically a vacation by their standards. They bought a camera and a new laptop in Houston and they'd been taking pictures and visiting museums so that they could actually pass as friends driving around the country. It was strange because their cover had become the truth in a way. It was fun. The laptop had pictures of them on it. Marta had six different hair colors, only three of them naturally occurring, and Aaron went across the spectrum in eye colors and fashion choices. Every Tuesday they got coffee at a coffee shop or café and sat for an hour or two checking the news and planning.

It was the first Tuesday of their seventh month of not being shot at that they had the bad luck to choose a Caribou Coffee in DC that got held up by a robbery. There were only five other customers in the store at the time and the two of them were unarmed because they had only stopped by the place since it was next to their hotel, which was where they had been planning on continuing their new ritual. There were three of them and they're all carrying guns, which were being waved around.

"Everyone on the ground!" one of them shouted. Aaron mentally designated this one "leader."

The two cashier/barista workers followed the order along with their fellow patrons. Marta practically read his mind and she'd learned enough self-defense by then to get the gun from one of the robbers and break his arm. Aaron took the second and took _his_ gun, using the unconscious man as a meat shield. "Leader" would be harder because they'd lost the element of surprise, but he didn't seem to be better trained than his henchmen. Aaron grabbed his attention by moving toward the door while Marta circled around the thick pillar in the center of the room to sneak up behind him. She pointed the gun at the back of his head.

"Drop your weapon."

"You don't have what it takes," he sneered.

"Drop the weapon."

"You couldn't kill a person."

"It would be a shame," she said while managing to keep her voice perfectly even, "because these poor people have already been through so much and the employees of this fine establishment shouldn't have to clean your less than adequate brains off the decor, but if you so much as twitch in a way I don't like I will paint the walls. Now drop the damn gun."

She knew she'd shaken him because the gun clacked to the linoleum flooring a moment later, almost unbearably loud in the hush. She got one arm around his neck and braced it against her other forearm behind his neck and squeezed. He went limp by the time she counted to eight and she let him slide to the ground. The gun she was holding and the one Aaron was both went on the counter and they strolled out of the coffee shop and back to their hotel, where they checked out earlier than intended and caught a bus north toward New York.

They had twitter accounts now, which they updated from public computers. They only followed each other, but they picked up thousands of followers within weeks of their first posts. They never put pictures of themselves up, but sometimes there were pictures of the places they visited. A picture of the DC coffee shop went up with one of the posts.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — October 12, 2008

The first time we've been almost shot at in half a year and it's just a random act of violence. #ItsLikeAVacation (kdidSJ9fs)

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — October 14, 2008

We left DC already, guys. Kinda hard to stay in one place for too long.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — October 17, 2008

#NYC is an interesting place. Good for getting lost in, but I wouldn't stay long.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — October 19, 2008

Delicious apple pie today. Getting one of those for the road. (Lksm36nfe)

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — October 21, 2008

We're pretty good at disguises. Practice makes perfect and we have a lot of practice. AaronCross has green eyes today.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — October 24, 2008

Looking around Chicago. #SheddAquarium #FieldMuseum #AdlerPlanetarium

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — October 29, 2008

#NiagraFalls is beautiful. I've seen so many things on the run, but now I can stop and appreciate them. (63KdimSild)

Aaron Cross AaronCross — November 1, 2008

Haven't shot anything/one recently. Seems like a good sign.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 1, 2008

AaronCross If we get attacked now, I'm blaming you.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — November 3, 2008

Montreal isn't a bad place. Might come back here someday. (fsfiLwfi)

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 6, 2008

AaronCross likes hiking in the forests around here. (sfkiSsf)

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 9, 2008

If we had legal passports, they would already be full of stamps. Backpacking across Europe isn't as much fun when trying not to get shot.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 10, 2008

Yes, we were Martha and Kenneth Greene in LA. We sent the documents to the media.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — November 12, 2008

LA was familiar. I knew I had spent a lot of time there, but I don't remember any of it.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 13, 2008

LauraA When I asked him he said "I know this place. I think I lived here, once." It's why I went looking for his file in the ones from LA.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — November 16, 2008

Posting on twitter is like having a journal and being OCD about conciseness.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — November 17, 2008

Political correctness is not something I'm concerned with while running from the government. Why is this so surprising?

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 21, 2008

AaronCross thinks we're being followed. He usually thinks we are, but he's also usually right.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — November 23, 2008

MartaShearing I think we have a cult following. Not stalkers.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 24, 2008

AaronCross How surprised by this are you?

Aaron Cross AaronCross — November 24, 2008

MartaShearing Sadly, not much. They need better hobbies if they have time for cults.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 24, 2008

AaronCross Don't encourage them. #ReversePsychology

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — November 27, 2008

MandyMoxie This is life for us, not a rom com or Harlequin. AaronCross and I are like siblings and I'd appreciate less objectification.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — December 4, 2008

Public computers. You won't find us by hacking, but you could trace where we've been recently.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — December 22, 2008

Haven't had wifi for a couple of weeks. This is almost like camping, except we're fugitives. (fsiFR5fmsv)

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — December 24, 2008

AaronCross tried to teach me to snowboard at #Whistler. Didn't go so well. (sfoiFIW3)

Aaron Cross AaronCross — December 24, 2008

MartaShearing If at first you don't succeed, skydiving may not be for you.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — December 25, 2008

Merry Christmas all! AaronCross and I saw #WhiteChristmas. He thought Danny Kaye and Vera-Ellen were hilarious. (asifj5Ia)

Aaron Cross AaronCross — December 25, 2008

MartaShearing I think Vera-Ellen could tap dance faster than I can do anything.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — December 29, 2008

Break through! I think I can get AaronCross off blue chems w/o turning him into a vegetable.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — December 30, 2008

SunnySonny They negate the brain damage from having been hit by a train. #Don'tJudge #TheMoreYouKnow

Aaron Cross AaronCross — January 3, 2009

TheGreatShazaam I have pre-Outcome enemies I don't remember. I think I got on the wrong side of some drug lords. #AlexMontel #Oops

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 4, 2009

Testing time for the virus. Radio silence for about a week.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 12, 2009

It worked. Celebrated with Rocky Road and Sinatra.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — January 13, 2009

It seems to be common belief that I can't possibly like Frank Sinatra.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 15, 2009

AaronCross doesn't trust the govt not to lock us up for stuff beside the fake treason charges. I agree with him.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 16, 2009

It's nice that everyone feels so patriotic, but we speak from personal experience. All govts are equally distrusted.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 16, 2009

AaronCross is singing along to the radio. He's pretty good.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — January 18, 2009

Videos could make me easier to find. The answer is no.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 21, 2009

Watched The Little Mermaid today. I just really like the name Sebastian.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 25, 2009

Had a horror movie marathon. It's hard to take them seriously when your biography could be a script for an action movie.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — January 27, 2009

AinsleyPaisley If I could see any Broadway show it would be An American in Paris. The music is fantastic.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 31, 2009

I'm amazed at what people think. I'm the one listening to rock and drinking beer. AaronCross is a bit more retro, but not ironically.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — January 31, 2009

MartaShearing It's called culture.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — January 31, 2009

AaronCross That's not part of your training.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — January 31, 2009

MartaShearing The things I would say to you would not fit in 140 characters and are not fit for polite company.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — February 2, 2009

LizTheWiz I've seen pictures of Brian Gamble, but it's like looking at a stranger. I don't know anything about him.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — February 2, 2009

LizTheWiz Are you studying psychology?

Aaron Cross AaronCross — February 2, 2009

LizTheWiz It comes across.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — February 3, 2009

Anyone else feel like they're being watched? #Skynet

A year after they started their twitter accounts (May 17, 2008), they had a million followers and Interpol and several governments had granted them blanket pardons. The US government even granted Aaron a pardon for anything he did before Operation Outcome. They didn't come out of hiding yet though. Pardons didn't mean that the government wouldn't try to screw them over and neither trusted the government not to try. Several trial verdicts from the Operation Treadstone scandal were revisited and Pamela Landy was released from prison with reparations. Dozens of high-ranking officials in the US government ended up in prison, justifiably this time, but they noticed that Byer wasn't one of them. He had vanished off the face of the planet and he was listed as wanted by Interpol for various crimes.

They bought camping supplies at a tiny town in the very north of Canada that probably didn't get news for a couple years after it happened and a used car from the last decently-sized city they passed through. The car had cost them five-hundred dollars and was legally registered to Angela and Robert Nancy, which were fake identities they had the proper paperwork—forged—for. Early May, shortly before the pardons, they used the passports to cross the border back into America.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — May 10, 2009

I've been rainier places. #SleeplessInSeattle (afsipKIsfl)

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — May 11, 2009

Not a lot to do in Olympia. Didn't stay long.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — May 12, 2009

You'd think scientists would appreciate science museums a bit more.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — May 14, 2009

Lots of fun in Portland. AaronCross made me stop at OMSI on the way into Oregon.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — May 14, 2009

MartaShearing You liked the Pacific Science Center just fine. #ItWasTheButterflies

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — May 14, 2009

AaronCross It was NOT the butterflies.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — May 16, 2009

AaronCross If you don't stop leaving butterfly stickers in my bag, I'm going to do something drastic.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — May 19, 2009

Byer's the one we're really worried about. Not likely to come out of hiding until he's dealt with to our satisfaction. #ItsATrap

Aaron Cross AaronCross — May 19, 2009

MartaShearing covered the most important part already. He has something of a private army. #Blackbriar #Treadstone

Aaron Cross AaronCross — May 22, 2009

Las Vegas is a pretty interesting place once you get away from the strip. And if you're not being shot at.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — May 23, 2009

Not talking to AaronCross right now.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — May 23, 2009

It was the butterflies. (af6ijIO2l)

She stopped giving him the cold shoulder a few days later, when they were in a tiny diner somewhere in Oklahoma. Over strawberry pie she looked at him and then said—

"You know, we're probably going to have to take those pardons and act like functioning members of society eventually."

"Sooner than later," he agreed. "Unless we move to a third world country."

"So, how are we doing this?"

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — May 28, 2009

Thinking about becoming normal functioning citizens. Any ideas?

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 1, 2009

Kandied Technically, the last place I worked was the CIA. I take issue with their lack of job security. #TheyTriedToKillMe #NotCool #Jerks

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — June 5, 2009

After some debate, we've decided to go to CIA headquarters for this. To find the end, go to the beginning. #WishUsLuck

The drive to Langley was a bit tense. No one else actually knew their current location or when they'd arrive at Langley, but the fact that they were expected in the headquarters of the organization that had been their mortal enemies for several years now was making them twitchy. They drove straight to North Carolina in a couple of days, then got a hotel room in southern Virginia. A couple of days into their stay, they checked out and drove toward Langley. Instead of getting a hotel room for the night they pulled into the parking lot at the George Bush Center for Intelligence when they arrived, sometime around midnight. Marta had been asleep for a few hours when they arrived and he didn't wake her. Instead he made sure he had two guns on him and the others were locked in the trunk. He settled on the hood of the car and napped a bit, waking up every time he heard a noise. When the sun came up—which was early—he took a picture.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 10, 2009

Got here a couple hours ago. Now we're just waiting for someone else to show up. (sfLK9fskIll)

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 10, 2009

ISwear2God15 Yes, we are currently in front of CIA headquarters.

The news crews arrived before the CIA agents.

CNN showed up remarkably fast and Marta woke up when they were swamped by newspaper reporters. She ran her fingers through her hair as she joined him on the hood of the car, locking the doors when she got out. They ignored the shouting. She poked him in the side.

"When did we get here?" she asked quietly.

"Around midnight," he said.

By the time the CIA showed up at their own headquarters they practically had to fight their way through the crowd. A suited woman walked up to them from the group of agents that was attempting to disperse the crowd of reporters.

"Doctor Shearing and Agent Cross?"

"I wouldn't say I was ever really an agent."

She just nodded sharply and turned on one lethal-looking heel.

"Follow me."

They left the cameras behind and followed her into the lion's den. The NHB was sleek and modern. Both of them tried to remember if they had ever been inside, but came to the conclusion that they probably hadn't. They were led to an office deep in the building. The plaque on the door said Deputy Director William Randall and it was only there that they were asked to hand over their weapons. Aaron handed over his guns. The agents stared at the pair for a few more seconds before being sent into the office. Behind the desk there was a man with graying hair waiting for them who stood when they entered.

"Please, sit." He gestured to the four chairs on the other side of his desk. "Ordinarily you would be taken to the Director, but Director Lawrence is currently under investigation for malpractice pending the possible return of the office to Pamela Landy."

The door opened again and two more people entered. They were introduced as Associate Deputy Director Richard Platt and Chief of Staff Louisa Hernandez Rodriguez. Aaron and Marta took the chairs closest to the window and the CIA employees settled in their own chairs.

"Now, as you no doubt already know, this is a bit unusual," Hernandez said. "Part of this is because Doctor Shearing was never taken off of the list of current CIA employees and another part is that Agent Cross was never on it."

"As I told her—" Aaron tilted his head toward the door. "—I was never really an Agent."

"Fair enough," she agreed, "that's true because you were never listed. However, you were reported to be a renegade CIA operative and that's how most people perceive you."

"I never finished the training for Outcome. I was getting close when the project got scrubbed, but I never finished it."

"But that isn't exactly the point here, is it?" Platt asked. "The point is that you have all of the training of a CIA agent and then some, that you've been treated like a CIA agent and called a CIA agent, and therefore that you should have been on the list getting all the benefits of a CIA agent. But you weren't and that's part of the problem."

"As for Doctor Shearing, she should have been taken off the list while she was on the run. Regardless of the falsity of the accusations against you, both of these are in blatant violation of protocol and as neither of you is at fault both of you are getting more leeway than you otherwise would."

"Of course, you will still be getting a bit more leeway than any average citizen or employee because of other wrongs committed against your persons," Randall was quick to add. "While we won't ask you to sign any non-disclosure forms—everything we find on Operations Treadstone, Blackbriar, and Outcome is considered declassified and the continuation of the projects a violation of the Geneva Convention—but we would also like to ask you to share any information you have with our analysts as well as with those from other agencies that will come in to debrief you."

"Hopefully we can get everyone in at once so that you only need to go through as many sessions as is absolutely necessary."

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 11, 2009

The best part of Langley? Well, there's REDACTED and the REDACTED, but the best part is definitely REDACTED.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 11, 2009

ThisIsLunaC I don't know what you're talking about.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 11, 2009

ThisIsLunaC I'm always perfectly serious. It keeps me alive. #ItsATrap

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — June 11, 2009

ThisIsLunaC It's either this or complete mental breakdown. I prefer this.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — June 11, 2009

ThisIsLunaC I doubt a therapist could empathize enough to even begin helping us. #NotHappening

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 12, 2009

MartiMcFly I don't like people.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 12, 2009

MartiMcFly No, not seeing Oprah in my future.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 13, 2009

MartiMcFly Maybe I'll move to Montreal and become a Mountie.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 13, 2009

MartiMcFly Maintiens le droit #I'veGotThis

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 14, 2009

Je vais devoir savez tous que je peux parler très bien le français. #NeMeCroyezPas?

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — June 18, 2009

I think we finally finished all of our debriefings. For now. #MakeItStop

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — June 18, 2009

Got gmail. Mine is martashearing and his is aaroncross

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — June 18, 2009

To those who email us: you probably won't get a reply.

Dr. Marta Shearing MartaShearing — June 19, 2009

Seriously, we each have about a million emails right now. Not even going to read most of these.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 19, 2009

Reasons why I don't like people: 1. They expect me to talk to them.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 19, 2009

2. They expect me to care about their opinions.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 19, 2009

3. I don't need your pity. Save that for starving orphans.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 19, 2009

4. The kind of person who sends a stranger a marriage proposal through email is not likely to be a person I would marry.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 19, 2009

5. If you want to say how much you support us, put together an internet forum. I don't need this many emails. I won't read them.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 19, 2009

6. No, I will not support your racist/sexist/fascist/satanist/terrorist/whatever agenda. Anyone using my name had better stop yesterday.

Aaron Cross AaronCross — June 19, 2009

7. They're everywhere.

Wading through their thousands of emails meant putting filters on their accounts. Anything from a government address went into one folder, emails from random people went into another folder, everything else went into the inbox. It wasn't perfect, but it worked well enough that they knew how to find the important stuff.

The CIA put them in an apartment in Langley and grudgingly gave back his two guns, provided he register them and all of his others. The paperwork for that got processed in a few hours after he proved, just for the official records, that he was more than proficient with them. Thus he legally had six guns identical except for their serial numbers and about a hundred magazines for them in their new two bedroom apartment. He also got concealed weapons licenses for each one. Marta laughed when he put them on the counter and said they were legal.

The apartment came with furniture and all of the utilities; according to the paperwork they owned it and just had to pay property tax and utilities. Groceries they had to buy on their own, but that was easy enough because apparently Marta's bank account was unfrozen back when they got pardoned and what should have been in Brian Gamble's bank account was dropped into a new account under Aaron's name with all of the money he got for "the grave injustices committed against his person." Between the two of them, they wouldn't have to worry about money for a while. Their car went in the underground parking lot and Marta considered staying at the CIA as a medical officer. Aaron considered enlisting, but then discarded the idea. They'd bought more stuff since they were able to slow down more, but with the camping supplies in the hall closet and Aaron's arsenal hidden wherever he put it that was still most of their belongings. There were a couple changes of clothing each and the various things like colored contacts, fake glasses, and hair dye that they used to disguise themselves; but the dye got thrown out and they weren't very likely to use the rest any time soon.

"We need clothes," Marta said at breakfast one day. "The CIA doesn't need us today, so we're going shopping."

Shopping involved going to the local Goodwill, which was what clothes shopping had been for them as long as they were on the run—if their clothes or shoes got destroyed one of them went and bought cheap replacements. It worked well enough for them and neither felt the need to change it. They only bought a few extra changes of clothing, but carrying the bags felt like they had bought too much. More minutes were bought for the pay-as-you-go phones they'd picked up in a gas station somewhere in Canada and they bought a high-powered laptop and a small TV from the electronics section of WalMart. At that the backseat of their car was full and they went back to the apartment. It still looked empty, so they considered getting copies of some of their pictures framed.

"Normal is difficult," Aaron said a week later. "I don't know how to deal with normal."

"Yeah," Marta sighed. "I actually have memories of normal and I can't deal with this anymore." She stood up and started to pace. "As long as we were still traveling it wasn't so bad, but I don't know if I can stay in one place for very long anymore. I keep waiting for something to happen," she huffed and dropped back into her chair.

"I don't want to enlist, but I'm definitely can't handle a desk job. I don't know how well I could take orders or deal with bureaucracy, reports, and paperwork. I don't have any experience with this."

"Wow. We're pretty screwed, aren't we?"

"We don't even have passports right now."

And they didn't. All of the information for their many aliases and the corresponding paperwork had been handed over and they hadn't gotten new passports yet, though they had replaced the driver's licenses.

Luckily the media hadn't figured out where they were living yet, but they would have been kept out anyway because of their incredible paranoia and the security system they had been installing in the apartment that would have been ridiculous if it wasn't for the fact that they had gotten used to running for their lives. Even then it was a bit over the top.

They didn't know how to do normal.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Finally mustered the motivation to do another edit on this: fixed all of the grammar issues I found and switched up some of the wording. It also occurred to me that there were some details that weren't very clear.

NHB: The New Headquarters Building of the CIA. Another name for the George Bush Center for Intelligence.

The formatting is weird for the twitter feeds because FF hates formatting, but those were originally formatted the same as actual twitter posts. Instead there are no (a)s and the places where it does something like (alsir83a2) is where there are supposed to be pictures attached, but twitter does pictures in URLs and FF hates those too.


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